


Old Friends

by mybeanieandme



Category: Night at the Museum (Movies), The Old Guard (Comics), The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: 1900s, Andy and Quynh are together but only mentioned briefly in passing - Freeform, Canon Compliant, Gen, Night at the museum crossover, Pre-Night at the Museum, Slight Emotional Hurt, ish, lots of comfort, the weight of immortality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2020-10-08
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:54:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26279749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mybeanieandme/pseuds/mybeanieandme
Summary: Andy has heard of a magical Egyptian tablet, and knows the legends to be true because she was there when it started.It's the Night at the Museum Crossover you never asked for.
Relationships: Andy | Andromache of Scythia & Quynh | Noriko, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 12
Kudos: 125





	1. Relics

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter 2 will be Joe and Nicky  
> Chapter 3 will be Booker
> 
> I just wanted- Andy to be tired and cry. Sorry. I know that Ahkmenrah was not a real pharaoh- but also Andy isn't a real person and I just think they'd be cute friends.
> 
> Also it's been a while since I've seen Night at the Museum so I don't remember specifics.....

Andy had learned the secret of the tablet when the tablet first came into being. She was there when it was first used- well not in the room precisely, but she was in the pharaoh's court. There were legends of objects coming to live that had no business moving. She knew these legends to be true as the only suspension one must disbelieve was that magic existed. Living many lifetimes had not seemed so cursed those four thousand years ago, when she first believed in her self-assigned mission Magic might just be what she was, what brought her back. So why would it not bring objects to life. 

She didn’t know what had happened to it, but then again it wasn’t exactly like she’d ever kept track. She scarcely remembered it’s existence in the near four millennia of memories she’d gained hence. But she saw it on display on a trip to New York City and recognized it immediately. These people had not known what they’d signed themselves up for if the stories that now came back to her were true. 

So she hid. She was good at hiding, for seconds, years, decades, lifetimes, her whole life in fact was hiding now. Half an hour behind a wax display was a piece of cake. It was peaceful, really. The saber tooth tiger above her harkening back to even a time she did not know. What sweet comfort to be among those things that had seen more history than you. 

Such places were often fraught for her, the memory of using objects that were not considered antiquity. Had she owned that specific plate? Was that snuff box the one she’d left in Paris in 1756? Were those her lover’s pearls?

The saber tooth tiger blinked to life above her in a curious expression. Docile and sweet, she stroked its snout and handed it the now wriggling tuna she’d stolen from the aquatic exhibit. The tiger took the fish and hopped off the platform, allowing her to stand as the mammoth shook its sleepy legs free of their moorings. 

She spun like a princess in a dress admiring the life around her, and ran to the Egypt room. 

The sarcophagus shook and everyone scattered, but not Andy. She pulled the lid open not knowing what she’d find. The skeleton of her friend crudely brought to animation, doomed to walk the world a fleshless zombie? Or perhaps nothing at all- just sand and scarab shells. 

But no- there was depth here, there was form and dimension beneath this death mask. She unraveled the fraying bandages and smiled. 

“Andromache,” Ahkmenrah’s bright eyes were just as she had remembered them, and she started to cry. 

It was like only yesterday the way they fell back in together. She had met him the way anyone meets the facilitator of a god, by being a god yourself. There was a reputation she upheld even in whispers and they had carried far and wide. Ahkmenrah sought her out.  
She had liked him immensely almost at once and they had become friends. His murder had meant her banishment. Surely they had both defied death as here he was now, as dewy as their first encounter. 

“How glad I am you’ve rescued me,” Ahkmenrah said for the sixth time as they sat eating grapes that had been but wax only hours ago, strange the rules of the museum and the tablet. 

Andy could only shake her head and smile. She hadn’t smiled this much in years, her face was genuinely starting to hurt at the corners and her eyes were watering again. Not from the strain but for the joy. “I just really missed you,” she hugged him close again. 

“I have missed you too,” Ahkmenrah slung an arm around her like he used to and pressed their foreheads together. “I cannot believe that now you are older than I am.”

“I was always older than you,” Andy chuckled. 

“Yes but now you have the wisdom of your years,” he raised an eyebrow at her.

She burst out laughing and he did too. She was never good at being a god. It did not give her purpose small moments like this had. She missed people, good people, people who made her feel like she could just be herself. So many of her lifetimes had been performances, with fleeting moments of calm and sanity. Moments that Quynh had given her. 

“Tell me what the world is like now,” Ahkmenrah requested politely. 

“What’s there to say?” Andy shook her head and gazed at the artificial sky above them painted a perpetual perfect blue. She sighed and shrugged. “The plumbing is nice, beds get better every year, clothes are a little too stuffy right now for my taste- the food is richer but also more bland- there are flavors I miss that haven’t existed in a hundred years.”

Tears rolled down her face again as she started at the vastness of blue. “All these years I think I’ve been pretty good at adapting. I roll with the punches, literal and figurative- but now I see you.” The tears really came when their eyes met again and he reached to cradle her face. “And I miss it- things weren’t perfect, and there is no point in dwelling. But loneliness is not a word vast enough for it. Ache has no meaning when it goes that deep. But you are here.”

He pulled her in tightly to his chest and she cried on his shoulder, big body wracking sobs. He told her stories of their time together as he remembered them, wiping her tears away and making them pour harder as she laughed. 

They sat like that until the sunrise threatened and she had to put him back to his eternal slumber. Her body ached as together they slid the cover back into place, sore from feeling things she had so deeply locked away.  
“Will you come back tomorrow?” Ahkmenrah asked just before his face could be eclipsed. 

“I’ll bring my friends.”


	2. Oregon Trail

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joe and Nicky meet an old friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am making this also a 1950s greaser AU for Joe specifically. Slight canon divergence from the film for some of the exhibits. Apologies.

It took two weeks for them to get to New York from their California bungalow (they had been suntanning on sunny beaches to replace the memories of Normandy and even worse atrocities they had seen over the long and bloody ordeal.) They took Andy’s advice and found a hotel as close as possible to the museum. 

When they’d spoken on the phone all those days ago, Andy had been so excited over the phone to surprise them with something they had not questioned it, but as the hours dwindled down they were restless in their room.

“Let’s make a day of it,” Joe suggested as Nicky paced. It was unlike him to pace, Nicky’s default state was unnervingly calm. Joe had tried many things to help Nicky relax, including that thing he did with his mouth, but when they were both dressed again he offered the only thing he had left. So they departed their room to get lunch.

They ate kosher pastrami sandwiches off crisp brown paper on the steps of the museum, with their jackets draped over Joe’s lap with a jar full of pickles between them. “What do you think it will be like?” Nicky asked, using a handkerchief to wipe his fingers before selecting another pickle. 

“I do not think we can possibly know, amore mio,” Joe said and he tipped his hat to a man as he entered the building. The aesthetic he’d drifted towards in this particular decade was still too counterculture for most, in his leather jacket and Johnny cap that protected his well coiffed and freshly gelled curls. He was already an outsider in a post-war America that was starting to grapple with its innate and systemic race issues. 

“Still,” Nicky’s voice was quiet, and pulled him back into the conversation. “I am excited.”

Joe flashed his brilliant smile then, soft and easy as you’d like. Nicky pushed his glasses up his nose. He’d started wearing sunglasses so often in California, he’d decided to wear them as an accessory the rest of the time to see how he liked them, he would never need them otherwise. Joe liked the way they framed his face. They went well with the suit Nicky wore. Soft wool tight and trim across his broad shoulders, Joe knew the ensemble gave him a little bit more freedom and he was grateful. Nicky had never cared much for clothes, and if his straight laced man-about-town look could ease peoples tensions of Joe expressing himself in sexy leather jackets, he would gladly wear his suit and tie. 

They finished lunch and headed inside, exploring the museum for the rest of the day. When closing time rolled around they saw a familiar silhouette around the miniatures exhibit. 

They all hid in separate locations. Andy knew all the best ones at this point and it wasn’t difficult. As things sprang to life around them they emerged, Andy reveling in the joy on her two friends’ faces. 

“Isn’t it something?” She said with wonder as she watched the eighth scale cowboys try to expand ever westward towards their manifest destiny. 

“Yeah,” Joe chuckled as he watched a roman legionnaire ride a chariot through a majestic square. “What do you think, Nicky-?” 

They turned but Nicky wasn’t there. 

Nicky was navigating slick marbled floors in his worn leather shoes, trying not to fall as he looked for her. Seeing her again earlier as they walked through the exhibits had made his heart ache in a way he didn’t understand. As he saw dozens of Maya figurines come to life something had clicked in his brain and he ran. 

The moose had nearly impaled him, it wouldn’t have mattered either way but getting blood on his shirt wasn’t exactly the reunion he was expecting. He hadn’t ever expected a reunion, if that’s what you could even call this. What was this? What was she?

“Sacagawea,” he gasped in disbelief and she turned at the sound of her name. 

Her eyes went wide as recognition dawned. “Nico.”

They closed the distance between them and hugged mightily. Nicky pressing his forehead to hers. “Behne,” he said in his most gentle voice and she smiled brilliantly. 

“Buongiorno,” she said back to him and they hugged again. She stilled in his hold a few moments later as heavy leather boots entered the room. “JOE!” she said in utter disbelief. 

They all embraced, Nicky trying to pull away to give Joe space but he wasn’t having it, squeezing them both tightly. She wasn’t exactly the same as the Sacagawea they had known. Joe suspected it was because she was a wax imitation of their once beloved friend. But her eyes had the same youthful glint and her voice the same beautiful tone. 

“We have missed you,” Joe tried out his now centuries rusty Shoshone and then she really began to cry. 

With Lewis and Clark arguing nearby it was exactly like it had been before all those many years ago. They sat around a fake fire that had sprung to life when she had. Nicky was braiding her hair in fashions she had taught him that he was just remembering now while Joe told her of their travels since they had known her the first time. Their friendship had come so easy then. She had needed friendship more than anything at the time, raising a child on a perilous expedition with the most incompetent men imaginable. 

Joe and Nicky had tagged along for only two weeks, telling her of long forgotten histories and the legends of another woman too brave to be real who forged new paths around the globe. Sacagawea was doing the same, holding the weight of these men’s world on her more than capable shoulders. But for the two weeks she had had their amity, she had felt such companionship and the loneliness of the journey was bearable. Joe held Jean Baptiste while he cried and Nicolo helped her cook. They were interested in her language and customs, and she was interested in theirs. So many men who came from distant lands only wanted to take things that were not theirs to take, but these two had wanted to share. 

“Here you are,” Andy said, her voice was soft as if she was worried she would disturb the scene and spook them off. 

“Andy,” Nicky smiled as he fastened Sacagawea’s hair. 

“Andy?” Sacagawea repeated, astounded. “Andromache?”

“How many friends do you have in here, Andromache?” Ahkmenrah asked as he came in behind her. 

The newcomers joined their circle. 

As the night went on their positions shuffled, Andy ending up with her arms around Sacagawea as they compared notes of every man who had ever wronged them. Andy wished she could go back in time and tear the spine from the man who thought he could buy and sell such a woman as this (or any woman for that matter). 

Joe and Nicky were asking Ahkmenrah everything they had ever wanted to know about ancient Egypt and what Andy was like back then. Ahkmenrah was an excellent storyteller, crafting many a fanciful tale that would have had Andy glaring gentle daggers at him had she been paying them any attention. But Andy was too wrapped up in remembering what base Uto-Aztecan languages she could to try to figure out how much they could converse in Sacagawea’s first tongue. 

A statue of anubis came as the witching hour approached. Sacagawea tried not to look too crestfallen at the prospect of their leaving her. This time wasn’t nearly as hard as the first time they’d parted ways in real life. 

“Don’t look so sad,” Andy said gently. “We will be back tomorrow and the day after- and every day we have to wait until our last friend arrives.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for historical inaccuracies for Sacagawea. I don't want to put words in her mouth but I imagine being the kidnaped teenaged daughter of a chieftain who was bought into a forced marriage situation would be rather lonely on a cross country expedition. She was a badass new god. She's fantastic. And I just think that she and joe and nicky would have been good friends.


	3. Roosevelt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Booker talks to Teddy Roosevelt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Out of character Teddy Roosevelt, strong divergency from movie canon, and just a lot of sad Booker- sorry, guys. He pulls it together at the end.This shit is existential. So- ye be warned.

Booker sipped his flask and watched quietly from a corner as everyone else chatted amicably, voices nearly hushed as if they all shared one bit secret. The hum of their voices broke every so often for fleeting chuckle that rang with pure mirth. 

He could not relate. Alive for nearly two hundred years and he could not see any humor in it. 

“That frown’s so deep your face is bound to get stuck that way,” said a voice from above him. Booker looked up. “I should know- I’m wax.”

“Wax?” Repeated Booker and he found himself more in the moment. “Is that what you are? And her as well?”

He gestured to Sacagawea. 

“I would have to assume so,” He nodded and sat beside Booker. “Why are you frowning so deeply, soldier?”

Booker rolled his eyes at the whole ordeal. When his friends had insisted he come find them in New York City, in his months long journey to them, he did not assume this. They had not mentioned- this. “All of this- just feels like a joke.”

“Life’s a joke,” the man shrugged, the ranks on his shoulders pointing at a high angle with the depth of it. “If you let it be that way.”

Booker rolled his eyes again. “You are a man made of wax, what have you ever known of life?”

“Son, I’m a wax man made in the shape of one of the rough rowdiest men in history,” Booker was leveled with a stare. “I have all his memories- up here.” He tapped the side of his hat. “So I have never lived his life, but I can remember how it felt to hold his dear sweet wife Alice in my arms. I have every struggle of a sickly childhood and every physical strife.”

“Do you ache for her? Does your body ache with the memory of the strife?” Booker said flatly. 

“I have never once,” the man admitted and he shook his head. “Not for her specifically. Nor can I recall the burn in the blood. But here in this place of history, I long for context of belonging.”

“Context of belonging,” Booker furrowed his brows, maybe his century of English wasn’t as good as he thought, or maybe he was drunk and this was a hallucination based on absinthe and schnapps. 

“What does it mean? What does coming to life every night really mean in the great cosmos of the earth?I once said- for us is the life of action, of strenuous performance of duty; let us live in the harness, striving mightily; let us rather run the risk of wearing out than rusting out,” he sighed, though Booker assumed he did not need to breathe. “But what is action here in this museum? I’m nothing but a relic of a bygone era. How strenuous can it get?”

Booker doubted a hallucination would be this articulate, so he blinked a little and put his flask down. “Life just goes on forever.”

“That sounds astoundingly exhausting, soldier,” the man told him. 

“And it just- never- gets any easier,” Booker scrubbed his hand through his hair. 

“Life- isn’t easy,” the wax stranger agreed. “Living in a museum is dull but not tasking. But if these memories I have are any indication- life’s the biggest challenge there is. And I busted the wall street trusts while raising my daughter.”

Booker had to chuckle at that, he took his flask back out and unscrewed the cap. 

“You are the bravest group of people I have ever heard of,” the man said as he removed his hat. “And you in particular. Incredibly taxing a life as any there were with an abundance of abandonment and still you carry on.”

That shocked a laugh out of him and he shook his head. “Living doesn’t make you brave. It’s just hard.”

“A soft, easy life is not worth living, if it impairs the fibre of brain and heart and muscle. We must dare to be great; and we must realize that greatness is the fruit of toil and sacrifice and high courage,” the man quoted himself yet again. “The oldest of you said you rescue people.”

“We do,” it was Booker’s turn to sigh. 

“That sounds like the best way you could live your whole life, especially one as long as yours,” he smiled and Booker had to smile back before he shook his head. 

“You are crazy,” Booker said.

“Just enough to be an elected official,” he nodded in agreement. 

Andy met his eyes across the room and she smiled brilliantly. Sacagawea had her head in Andy’s lap and was looking up at her like she’d hung the moon. 

“I should go join my friends,” Booker said and moved to stand. “Do you want to join us?”

The man looked from Booker to the group, eyes lingering on the Lemhi Shoshone woman draped over her companion like a poem. He shook his head. “That is a bravery I’ve yet to find.” 

There was a firm hand clasped to Booker’s back before it was gone. Booker closed the distance between himself and his friends. 

“Booker! Please tell me the story of the mangoes in Peru,” Sacagawea said immediately as he came into earshot. The familiarity in her voice, as if they’d known each other the entire time he’d been alive, made him understand how she’d made such an impact on Nicky and Joe even after two weeks. That felt like such a blip in time for him. For all of them. For Andy it must have felt like the nanoseconds between blinks. 

“Yeah, common, Book,” Andy’s smile didn’t fade and she patted the spot beside her that had clearly been left for him. They knew he’d come over at some point- he should have known he was so welcome as this. 

“What do you want to know about the mangoes?” Booker leaned a little into Andy, and she put her arm around him. 

“Everything,” Sacagawea smiled. 

“That will take a very long time,” Booker said, suddenly finding everyone’s eyes on him, each one keen with interest. 

“We have many hours left of the evening,” Ahkmenrah said encouragingly and leaned forward just a little.   
“Well if you really want to know,” Booker sat up a little straighter to assume the position of lead storyteller of the group. “It was 1892-.”

As he regaled them the intricate plot of the woman he’d saved like something out of a film, her and her truck full of mangoes, he glimpsed just a little of what the wax man meant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry again- I just thought that maybe he would actually have liked Teddy Roosevelt. And if anyone could have given booker a pep talk it was that guy. 
> 
> The reference to Alice (his daughter, not his wife) is a historical joke from a quote of Teddy Roosevelt himself. “I can do one of two things. I can be President of the United States or I can control Alice Roosevelt. I cannot possibly do both.” She sounds like a really cool person.


End file.
